Chapter 120: An Old Sword Saint Emerges from the Bottom of the Lake, Pledging the Entire Sword Pool Palace’s Promise [Monthly Votes Requested]

The melodious tolling of the bell gradually dissipated, like the final mournful cry of a deep-sea leviathan facing its end in a whale fall.

Thirty-six tolls, and the entire city was filled with hanging swords!

In Jinguancheng, a light,酥-like spring rain descended in a dense veil, clinging to the blades that had been drawn upward by an inexplicable force. Water flowed along the edges and dripped from the tips, as if the swords themselves were weeping.

Every citizen in the city—from porters and merchants, scholars and poets, to courtesans and the cultivators of Jinguancheng who had risen on their swords—gazed at this miraculous sight that had stunned the entire city, filled with profound awe.

A phenomenon where the entire city was adorned with suspended swords had never occurred in Jinguancheng; not even in the oldest historical records was there any mention of such a thing.

The Sword Mound wailed, and every blade in the city hung suspended, as if seeing off the departed relics in a final farewell.

What had happened within the Sword Pool Palace? And who was the person who had rung the ancient sword bell?

Many were filled with curiosity, especially regarding the one capable of striking the bell thirty-six times. Facing the sword bell, being able to elicit a ring represented a karmic connection with the sword, but thirty-six tolls... what could that possibly signify? Even the residents and cultivators of Jinguancheng could not begin to imagine the meaning behind these thirty-six tolls.

Even the venerable old Sword Saint, who had shielded the Sword Pool Palace for so many long years, had only ever managed thirty-five tolls!

Could this person who struck such a resounding wave of tolls possess the potential to become the next generation’s Sword Saint?

Inside the Sword Pool Palace, there was silence. Everyone looked toward the direction of the Sword Pool Lake, feeling the lingering echoes of the bell that still seemed to reverberate in their ears, despite having faded away.

What kind of person could strike such a toll?

The disciples of the Sword Pool Palace felt an endless curiosity, for this person had created not just a legend, but had shattered an unprecedented record of the palace.

Eighteen tolls were enough for the Sword Pool Palace to forge a Grade Two sword for the ringer. Now, this person had struck thirty-six—doubling the feat. Such a figure would surely become an honored guest of the Sword Pool Palace! Perhaps even a master swordsmith would be moved to forge a Grade One sword for them!

Before the Sword Pool Lake, a gentle breeze carried the chill of water vapor.

An Le stood before the cracked stone platform, drenched in sweat that had soaked through his white robes. He gasped for air, every inch of his flesh trembling. The light, drizzling rain that fell upon him was instantly evaporated into a hazy mist by the heat of his churning blood.

An Le felt an unprecedented exhaustion of both mind and body, as if he had been drained of every ounce of strength and spirit. It was even more taxing than when he had utilized the "Heroic Spirit Invocation" before the Tianxuan Palace in Lin'an Prefecture to strike down the Great Zhao Emperor’s palm, shattering the grand primordial spirit formation that had obscured the White Jade Square.

Even though his cultivation had stepped into the Double Fifth Realm, this exhaustion surged forth, impossible to resist.

Of course, An Le felt no concern. He understood that this was the state left behind after his God-Connecting Sword Physique had engaged in a resonance of spiritual essence with the ancient sword bell and the Sword Mound that held so many departed blades. Striking the bell thirty-six times relied not just on karma, but on a divine exchange between his God-Connecting Sword Physique and the lingering sword souls of the departed weapons.

An Le sat on the stone platform and gently patted the sword bell, which had become scorching hot from the continuous vibrations.

A wisp of primordial innate energy surged from his elixir field, and at the center of his forehead, within his Niwan Palace, a glow of auspicious light rose behind his primordial spirit!

With his body-forging reaching the Fifth Realm, surrounded by innate energy, and his spirit-refining also reaching the Fifth Realm of "Sitting in Oblivion," a glow of enlightenment manifested behind him.

Touching the sword bell, he felt as if the souls of the departed swords had all returned, gathering within this vessel. Every sword had its own story, its own soul. Even in death, they left behind the traces of time.

An Le rose, his gaze resting on the bell as it settled back onto the stone platform. At this moment, he felt an invisible connection to the ancient instrument. If he wished, he could easily carry it away.

He smiled and turned to walk off the platform.

With a shake of his body, the remaining moisture evaporated, leaving his white robes dry. The "Green Mountain" and "Ink Pool" swords hung at his waist. After being bathed in the bell's resonance, the impurities on the "Ink Pool" had largely faded. This sword, which had attained the Fifth Grade by absorbing the essence of ink and calligraphy, had jumped in rank to the Fourth Grade under the cleansing of the thirty-six tolls.

The ink essence within the sword had not increased—after all, An Le had not painted or composed much lately—but the rank increase was not due to ink essence. It was due to a fundamental change in the sword itself; washed of its impurities and bathed in sword energy, it had birthed a sword soul. This was the key to "Ink Pool" ascending to the Fourth Grade.

"Green Mountain" had also been cleansed, though it did not rise in rank. Yet, An Le could feel his connection to it growing tighter. He could even vaguely see the mist before the mountain clearing, revealing a winding path shrouded in clouds. He knew that as long as he stepped onto this path, he could ascend the mountain and complete the ancient scripture.

Having dried his sweat, An Le’s hair flowed in the wind, and he appeared refreshed, like a Sword Immortal stepping out from the side of the bell.

Everyone’s eyes fell upon the youth who had created a miracle for the Sword Pool Palace. Thirty-six tolls—it was simply inconceivable!

Su Muzhe’s eyes shone with excitement; she now firmly believed in Zhao Huangting’s claim that An Le could bring hope to the Sword Pool Palace. Zhao Huangting’s eyes were filled with gratification, a smug smile playing on his lips. Beside him, the bare-chested Wan Jieliu looked at An Le with unbridled excitement.

Beyond them, on the bluestone path, the disciples of the Sword Pool Palace, who had been preparing their own state of mind to strike the bell, were now filled with fanatical, excited, and reverent gazes. After thirty-six tolls, they had witnessed a Sword Immortal! At this moment, the youth was the Sword Immortal in their hearts. Even Lu Shisan, who had coughed up blood from the shockwaves, clenched his fists in excitement, feeling not a hint of resentment or defiance.

He had only managed fifteen tolls; compared to the thirty-six of this peerless youth, he was nothing. But what did that matter? To have heard the thirty-six tolls in this lifetime was enough to have no regrets! Moreover, Lu Shisan had gained much from the cleansing of the bell's resonance.

The cultivators from the Dali Kingdom’s Star Ranking looked on in wonder. As those frequently sent by the Dali Imperial Preceptor to "borrow" opportunities at the Sword Pool Palace, they knew how difficult it was to ring the bell, and how much harder it was to ring it repeatedly. Even Lu Ziwei, the top of the Star Ranking, had only struck it seventeen times. Lu Ziwei’s eyes trembled; she felt an immense curiosity about this youth who resembled a Sword Immortal. When had such a figure appeared in the Great Zhao Dynasty?

The handsome youth walked toward them like a Sword Immortal, his gaze sweeping over and landing on the Second Prince, Zhao Pei. An Le did not recognize Zhao Pei, but he could vaguely guess his identity—the ornate robes, the air of pampered nobility, and the high-ranking aura. Zhao Huangting had told him about a Second Prince cultivating in the Heavenly Master’s Mansion, a genius of the Zhao family ranked second on the Lesser Saint Ranking, just behind Zhao Xianyou. This had to be him.

"Second Prince, it is your turn to strike the bell. Please."

An Le’s white robes billowed in the breeze, his sleeves filled with clear air, his hair dancing as he spoke calmly to the Second Prince.

Suddenly, everyone’s gaze shifted to Zhao Pei. They had all seen this man in ornate robes haughtily cut the line to reach the platform, attempting to strike the bell before the youth, only to be blasted off the stage by the aura of a Heavenly Dragon. Now that the youth had finished, it was indeed the man’s turn.

Zhao Pei’s face was cold and grim. The golden sand at the center of his forehead had a faint crack that was still slowly repairing itself; this meant his connection to the "Purple Qi Golden Lotus" had been weakened, and he would need time to nurture it back to its former strength. As for stepping onto the stage to strike the bell... that was absolutely out of the question.

To go up now would be to invite humiliation. Even with the Golden Lotus, he could not guarantee eighteen tolls, let alone match the desperate, insurmountable record of thirty-six set by An Le. His spirit had been broken by An Le’s invincible momentum, and his connection to the Golden Lotus had been shattered by the continuous waves of the bell... He would not be foolish enough to go up now.

The Second Prince’s robes fluttered as he shot An Le a deep, intense glare. Without a word, he turned and walked away toward the Jiangling King and the Daoist Li of the Heavenly Master’s Mansion. To many, his retreat looked like a flight in disgrace. But no one mocked him; who would dare strike the bell now? The lingering pressure of the thirty-six tolls was more than they could bear. For at least a month, no one would dare step onto the platform. It wasn't just about avoiding embarrassment; it was about the awe of the record.

Streaks of sword energy arrived as the experts of the Sword Pool Palace approached. Even the swordsmiths who had emerged from their workshops strode forward, eager to see the one who had created this miracle. Many disciples bowed with their swords held in salute, hearts pounding, shocked that these reclusive masters of the palace were appearing all at once.

When an old man with hair like silver sword-mist arrived, treading on thin air, even the Palace Master Su Muzhe had to bow in respect.

"Greetings, Master Wang!"

Everyone saluted. Even Zhao Huangting set aside his usual unbridled manner and cupped his hands. After all, the newcomer was Wang Yansheng, the most senior master and the man hailed as the world’s greatest swordsmith.

The Jiangling King, holding his umbrella, looked solemn and bowed slightly. The old swordsmith, however, did not even glance at him, his gaze passing right over him. The Jiangling King’s expression remained unchanged, but the Daoist from the Heavenly Master’s Mansion and the Second Prince, Zhao Pei, both furrowed their brows.

"That is Wang Yansheng," the Jiangling King whispered.

Zhao Pei and Li Qingchuan relaxed their brows at the mention of the name.

The old man strolled along the bluestone path, his eyes sweeping over and landing first on Zhao Huangting. "The Nirvana Fire is one of the Three Calamities of the Tenth Realm. You ignited it, yet suppressed it with the Heart Sword of the Ganye Temple to prolong your life... It seems you are still unwilling to let go."

Zhao Huangting laughed. "There is no such thing as immortality in this world. What does life or death matter? I only seek to live freely."

The old swordsmith nodded. "That is good. A carefree outlook is better than the desperation of those who stop at nothing as their end approaches."

"You flatter me, I am but a vulgar man," Zhao Huangting replied.

The old swordsmith smiled. "Regardless, you vulgar man have brought the Sword Pool Palace a great surprise today."

Zhao Huangting grinned, a look of immense smugness spreading across his face. "Green Mountain does not choose the wrong person, and I, Zhao Huangting, do not misjudge."

The old swordsmith turned his gaze toward the bisected Sword Pool Lake. His primordial spirit could perceive the gaze within the lake that seemed to shift the very colors of heaven and earth, and a smile tugged at his lips.

The old man cupped his hands in a bow. Seeing this, Wan Jieliu, who had followed the old master for years, immediately reacted, his expression shifting as he hurriedly bowed in deep salute. Su Muzhe and the other masters of the palace followed suit without hesitation.

An Le turned to look. The "Green Mountain" and "Ink Pool" at his waist were trembling uncontrollably. Between heaven and earth, a vast and extreme sword intent surged, as if a peerless divine blade were slowly unsheathing.

From within the Sword Pool Lake, an old man in casual hempen clothes, with white hair and a white beard reaching his waist, slowly strolled out.

The ancestor of the Sword Pool Palace, that ancient Sword Saint who had stepped into the realm of a Land Immortal!

The moment the Sword Saint appeared, every sword began to tremble uncontrollably, including An Le’s "Green Mountain." Everyone felt their hearts racing; it was unexpected, yet felt entirely natural. The surprise was that this old Sword Saint, who hadn't appeared in over a century, had emerged from the lake itself—even when he had disciplined Zhao Huangting, it had been through a mere wisp of aura. But today, he had emerged from the spring rain, following the wake of the bell.

Su Muzhe was overcome with emotion, biting her red lips. As long as this Sword Saint remained, the Sword Pool Palace would be secure, and those with covetous eyes would not dare to move.

The old man walked step by step, and the sword energy in the world gradually subsided, as if he were just an ordinary old man in hemp clothes. Master Wang Yansheng bowed to the Sword Saint again.

The Sword Saint smiled and gestured for them to rise. "At our age, there is no need for such formalities."

The old swordsmith smiled gently. "I never imagined that today would be the day to draw you out."

"The sword bell has not rung thirty times in six hundred years; how could I not come to see it when it rings thirty-six times? If I remained sitting by the lake, it would be a disrespect to the Sword Mound, a disrespect to the sword," the Sword Saint said with a smile, his gaze then landing on the white-clad An Le.

The Sword Saint’s gaze held no pressure; rather, it felt as comfortable as a spring breeze.

"The connection between a person and a sword is the key for a practitioner to break through confusion and find their path. When you stepped onto the Sword Pool Lake, I did not think you could ring the bell thirty-six times, yet you gave me an unimaginable surprise."

"I came to see you, and now that I have, it no longer feels surprising."

The old man’s eyes seemed to contain sword energy, his entire being as if condensed from it. A gust of wind could have carried him away. An Le felt his God-Connecting Sword Physique trembling, as if he had nowhere to hide under the old man’s gaze.

The Sword Saint took a step and appeared beside An Le, reaching out to gently tap the center of his forehead. The clanging sword energy within An Le’s brow calmed instantly.

"The karma between you and the sword, and the karma that brings us together, lies within these two wisps of sword energy. This is what you deserve for striking the bell thirty-six times."

"I hope these two wisps of sword energy will be of help to you. From this day forward, the Sword Pool Lake shall stand by your side. As long as you do not betray the sword, the Sword Pool Lake... shall not betray you."

The Sword Saint’s voice was ethereal yet remarkably gentle. Two vast wisps of sword energy surged—one entering his Niwan Palace, the other leaping into his elixir field, circling the primordial core. His God-Connecting Sword Physique seemed to cheer, absorbing the unique essence and power within the sword energy.

On the grass, the crowd was stunned by the Sword Saint’s words. Su Muzhe and the others were shocked; the Sword Saint’s words held profound significance, effectively acknowledging An Le’s status in the Sword Pool Palace and binding the palace’s future to his. Even Zhao Huangting’s brows twitched in surprise—had the old Sword Saint seen something? Was he truly betting the entire Sword Pool Palace on An Le?

"An era is coming to a close; the future belongs to the newcomers."

"You must firmly hold the sword you have chosen in your heart; the sword will not betray you."

The old Sword Saint spoke with a warm smile, patting An Le on the shoulder with earnestness.

An Le slowly recovered from the shock of the two wisps of sword energy, suppressing the urge to study them further, and bowed. "Thank you, Senior."

In the distance, the Jiangling King, Li Qingchuan, and the Second Prince, Zhao Pei, had heard the Sword Saint’s words. Zhao Pei’s brow furrowed. After a moment, he stepped forward, the golden sand on his forehead releasing a faint light as a purple lotus bloomed behind him.

"The Great Zhao Dynasty’s Second Prince, Zhao Pei, pays his respects to the venerable Sword Saint."

Zhao Pei bowed respectfully, his voice filled with reverence, though the intention was clearly to assert his own presence.

Yet, no one paid him any heed. The spring breeze blew, the spring rain fell, and the world was silent. He stood there in his awkward, bowing posture, unsure whether to remain or retreat.

To his delight, the Sword Saint seemed to glance at him and spoke lightly.

"A nice Purple Qi Golden Lotus."

The joy on the Second Prince’s face faded bit by bit. Vaguely, he sensed something off in the tone. What did "nice" mean? Was the Sword Saint thinking of plucking it? The Second Prince’s expression changed; the surrounding air seemed to turn icy, as if countless sword blades were pointed directly at him, making his hair stand on end.

He remained in his bowing posture, not daring to move. But in his heart, he was already desperate to turn around and flee.